A Web: Unraveled
by DelektorskiChick
Summary: Part two of The Nightmare Series. What is Natasha Romanoff's worst nightmare? Is it Loki? Is it Clint going bad again? Is it Red Room? Rated M for graphic scenes. Please read responsibly!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Welcome to part two of The Nightmare Series, A Web: Unraveled! This one (obviously) follows Natasha's nightmare. I hope you guys enjoy!

For purposes of my own sanity, I have stuck to the Avengers movie as my canon, but will be drawing on the comics for background info. Please let me know if you find an issue or something I have created through my own ignorance. I blame three a.m. and Wikipedia.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything remotely related to Marvel or the Avengers. *sadface*

**WARNING!: **This story contains descriptions of torture that, while the descriptions themselves are not graphic, the actual torture itself is. If you are not comfortable with this, stop reading now before you get too into the story. Most of the reason for the rating is in Chapter Two, but it is integral to the story and cannot be skipped. Thanks for your time!

.0.o.0.o.0.

Natasha woke up the same way she always did; instantly to complete wakefulness. It wasn't anything SHIELD or Red Room had trained into her, it was just something she'd done for as long as she could remember. But as she sat up and glanced at the clock next to her (she'd gotten her usual three and a half hours) something seemed off. It took her a few moments to realize what it was.

Clint wasn't in the bed next to her like he'd been when they'd fallen asleep.

She was mildly impressed that he'd been able to leave the room without waking her.

Natasha stood and stretched, then pulled on one of Clint's old SHIELD training sweatshirts over her sleep tank and pants. She was swimming in it, but it was one of the most comfortable things she'd ever worn. She'd stolen it from him just after they'd moved into Stark Tower.

There were only a couple of places Clint would be hiding. When she didn't find him on the firing range or in the big communal kitchen, she knew that she would find him in the small gym Tony had declared hers and Clint's. And she did.

The large, open room echoed with the thuds of Clint's hands hitting the pedestal bag centered under the only light on. He hadn't been at it long, judging by the small amount of sweat that darkened the back of his gray tank top. Nat slipped silently into the back corner to observe him as he worked out his emotions. A smile quirked just the corners of her mouth. He'd wrapped his hands this time. The last time she'd caught him at this, he hadn't, and it had taken him weeks to be able to use his bow properly. He'd been miserable while the SHIELD doctors had demanded he go through a full psych eval and physical therapy before they cleared him.

That, and the fact that both she and Phil (there was a funny twinge in her gut as she thought of him in the past tense) had chewed him out about it afterwards, and both had refused to spar with him unless he wrapped them.

The thuds started slowing down, then stopped as Clint leaned head and left hand against the bag, breathing heavily. He punched the bag once more, then backed away from the bag and started unwrapping his hands. That's when Nat decided it was probably safe to approach him.

"So, how bad was it this time?"

Clint started, then smiled at her. There wasn't any warmth in it though.

"Bad." At her raised eyebrow, he huffed a sigh. "It wasn't the other one, but it was still bad."

She walked up to him and placed her left hand on his right shoulder. "Clint, don't do this to yourself. You can tell me what happened."

"That's just it, Nat. I don't think I can."

She used her hand on his shoulder to turn him around to face her. Nat cocked her other eyebrow. He sighed.

"You need to tell me, Clint. We're-"

"I know, I know, we're partners."

"So? What was it?"

He sighed again. "It was…" he pivoted on his heel and punched the bag again, then rested his fist against it. "It was our fight. On the carrier. It ended differently. A _lot_ differently." He ran his free hand down his face. "I brought you to… _him_. He…"

Clint turned his head away.

"Then I woke up. Came down here. Honestly, I'm amazed I didn't wake you up, Nat. I was breathing kind of hard. Nat?"

Clint looked around, but all he saw was the gym door swinging soundlessly shut. Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

.0.o.0.o.0.

_Please review! I will post more later!_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I apologize ahead of time for this. It is very difficult to make me cry; kudos to those fanfic authors who have made me, you know who you are. Therefore, I warn you, I cried while writing this. 'Nuff said.

**Disclaimer:** While Joss Whedon is my god, I do not own anything Marvel or Avengers related. (Well, I do, but I don't think merchandise counts in this case…)

**WARNING!:** THIS CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF TORTURE AND CHARACTER DEATH. There _is_ a reason this is rated M. Please read responsibly.

.0.o.0.o.0.

"_It was our fight. On the carrier. It ended differently. A _lot_ differently."_

.0.o.0.o.0.

"It's Barton. He took out our systems. He's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?" Fury's voice came over Natasha's comm. unit. He sounded a little stressed.

Then again, so was Nat. after all, she'd just almost been flattened by a very angry Dr. Banner.

"This is Agent Romanoff. I copy." She got up and took off after her wayward partner. She caught up to him somewhere in the bowels of the ship, amid a massive maze of pipelines. She shadowed his movements until she knew he sensed her, and as he turned, arrow knocked, she grabbed his bow and spun it. He elbowed her in the face and she kicked him back, then jumped under one of the pipes. A tiny grin perked up one corner of her mouth.

Just like training all over again.

He bent over to look for her, but she was already on his other side, swinging out from under the catwalk and kicking him in the gut. He aimed another arrow, but she swung out over the open abyss that was the bottom of the carrier and landed neatly on an adjacent catwalk. He leapt after her, then started to use his bow as a staff-fighting weapon. She dodged two blows and blocked another, but he used her block and grab to pull her in and use his weight against her. He pushed her up against a guard rail, but she used that to her advantage and kneed him off of her.

She hung onto his bow though.

Spinning around, the tiny grin shimmered onto her face again, then disappeared as Clint pulled his knife on her with his left hand. The knife she'd gotten for him, the one with an arrow carved on the blade. He came at her, full force.

She dropped his bow, then kicked him back, grabbed his arm, and twisted. She didn't want to hurt him, it was still her partner under there, but she had to get the knife away from him. He flipped it to his right hand and swung at her. She ducked, but just barely in time. She stood up, too far inside his reach for Clint to use the knife properly, bent his wrist back and held his own knife to his throat.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, then pointed the knife at her own throat. But he pulled her head back so far that it hit something, and hit it hard. Natasha was dazed for a moment as she tried to figure out what it was that she'd hit. It was the guard rail behind her.

But that moment was one she didn't have.

Natasha looked up just in time to see the butt of Clint's knife come at her temple.

The last thing she saw before unconsciousness pulled her under were Clint's eyes.

They were an icy blue.

.0.o.0.o.0.

When Natasha awoke, it was through a drug-induced fog. She hated it when anyone put drugs in her system, with or without her consent. It reminded her too much of Red Room. When she tried to raise her hand to her head to check and see if Hawkeye's blow had broken the skin, she was pulled up short. Her hands were chained to the floor with maybe six inches of chain between her wrists and the ground. Sitting up, she realized her ankles were in a similar state, but they had about a foot and a half of slack each.

Also; she was in her underwear.

As the drugs finally began to really wear off, Nat also realized something else; she had been completely stripped of all of her weapons, and not just the obvious ones. They'd even taken off the small button on her bra that was really a cyanide capsule. Only one other person knew where and what that was. Apparently Clint had been the one to search her. She didn't know whether to be proud that she'd finally taught him to expect the unexpected with her, or terrified because he was using that knowledge to help Loki.

She decided it was a little of both.

Finally, Natasha took a survey of her surroundings. She was in what appeared to be some sort of disused subway or sewer tunnel, at an intersection of four pipelines. It made the room appear octagonal, and all of the pipes had been blocked off and heavy doors with multiple locks barricaded each. Shaking her head to get her hair out of her face, the last remnants of the drug decided to make themselves known by spinning the room. Nat stared at one spot on the floor, trying to quell the nausea.

She looked up when she heard laughter.

"And so the spider is trapped in her own web. I think I would call that poetic justice, wouldn't you?"

Natasha gathered what moisture she could in her mouth and spat the result at Loki's feet. A grin spread slowly across his face.

"Oh, I had _so_ hoped that would be your response."

Nat said nothing as Loki moved closer, just glared up at him through the curtain of her hair. He grabbed a fistful of her flaming hair and wrenched her body as far back into an arc as the chains would allow. It was excruciating.

"I believe we made a bargain." He whispered in her ear. Her breath quickened and she felt more than heard Loki chuckle. When he next spoke, his voice rang out and echoed through the room.

"Agent Barton, if you would be so kind as to show Agent Romanoff all the courtesy your king has declared she should have?" He threw her forward as he released his grip on her hair, sending Natasha sprawling.

When she looked up, Barton was standing there, knife in his hand.

"Clint?" Her voice was rough as me moved towards her. "Clint, I know you're in there somewhere. You have to fight him!"

"Remember, Agent Barton," Loki's voice called out over her hoarse whispers. "Slowly. Intimately." Loki's smile grew as Clint held his knife to Natasha's throat and he sat down on the steps. "In every way she fears."

Nat hissed in pain as, with a flick of his wrist, Clint scored a thin line of blood across her clavicle and down her right arm. She hissed again and flinched as one cut multiplied into thirty. He only stopped when it felt like hundreds of fire ants were crawling all over her skin. He wiped the knife off on his pants and resheathed it, not sparing a single glance down at her with those eerie blue eyes, eyes not his.

She was panting with so much pain that she nearly missed what he said next.

"Bring it out here. Make sure that it stays hot."

When she realized what he meant, she started pulling on the chains hard enough her wrists began to bleed.

Loki laughed as she started screaming. He kept laughing through the sizzle of hot metal on her flesh.

Then he just smiled and watched as Clint tore her fragile mind apart.

.0.o.0.o.0.

Natasha could no longer weep. Her brain had mostly shut down when Clint had started burning the hourglass pattern into her abdomen with the hot pokers he'd had brought out. She'd managed a whimper as he'd first started choking her, but after he'd let her pass out and revived her a few times, she just couldn't handle it.

She was a quivering wreck.

And when he'd cut away her underwear and unzipped his pants-

A shudder rolled through her. Loki laughed.

"Very good work, Agent Barton. You did well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Finish it."

The last thing Natasha saw was her partner's face as he slit her throat.

Her vision went first as her life slowly drained from the wound in her neck. She heard Clint stagger to one side as Loki lifted the Tessarect's power from him. Heard him yell as he saw her on the floor, broken and bleeding from his own good work. Felt him cradle her body to himself as he started to sob. Heard his wordless scream as he realized _he'd_ done this to her.

The last thing Natasha Romanoff heard was Loki's scepter burying itself in Clint's skull and abruptly cutting off his scream.

.0.o.0.o.0.

_End chapter two. One more to go! Please review; any kind of review makes my day!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** And now we get to the comfort part of this. There's a tiny bit of happy-fluff here, not quite enough to completely heal all the hurt feels, but enough to make it a little better. Sorry it's so short; there really wasn't a good way to break this into chapters, but it needed to be done.

**Disclaimer:** Once more, I do not own the Avengers. *sighs sadly*

**WARNING!:** Actually… there is no warning here. Yay!

.0.o.0.o.0.

Natasha sat straight up in bed, a scream tearing itself from her throat. She held one hand to her neck as she gasped in deep breaths, trying to slow her heart rate down. She'd just managed to get it under some semblance of control when the door to her room burst open. She had her gun trained on the intruder before her brain could process that it was a shirtless Clint standing in her doorway, his own gun pointed at her.

He lowered his weapon.

"Tasha? You okay? I heard you scream."

To Natasha's complete and utter shame, she burst into tears. Clint was across the room in two strides, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Tasha? It was a nightmare, wasn't it?"

All she could do was nod. She got her breathing under control enough to tell him, "It was you, and, and, and me, and we were on the carrier. You hit me over the- the head, and then Lo- Loki made good on his… his bargain."

She started sobbing again, and was beginning to hyperventilate. Clint sat down on her bed and wrapped Tasha up in his arms. He held her as she cried, rocking her back and forth.

"It's okay, Tash, it's okay. It didn't happen. You saved me, you knocked him out of me.

"It didn't happen."

.0.o.0.o.0.


	4. Update!

First of all, I just wanted to let you guys know that I have not; (a) dropped off the face of the planet, though it was a very close call; (b) lost interest in writing this; or (c) gotten massive writer's block. On December fourth, I tore a ligament in my right shoulder, my dominant arm. My shoulder has been kind of iffy for the last four or five years, due to an extremely large horse and an exquisitely hard fall. (Read: my horse bolted, I fell off and landed on my right shoulder and then did three somersaults under his hooves, denting in my helmet, scraping all of the skin off my left side, and snapping my glasses, as well as having him kick me in the same shoulder I landed on, plus various other bumps and bruises.)

This last time I lost a game of tug of war with a dog I was watching for a friend and then slept funny on a futon. (Please don't laugh. Futons are evil; they live to make me suffer.)

The immobilization sling I was in made typing nearly impossible, and handwriting hurt like hell. I couldn't even sign my own name on my intake paperwork at the hospital, my mother had to do it. Some of you may have noticed that when I was writing reviews or sending pms over the last few weeks that I seemed a little… off. I have been on pain meds for the last couple of weeks; they're _(absolutely lovely)_ strong. But no worries, I am (mostly) healed now and in physical therapy; my arm is doing much better. I should have the rest of Tony's nightmare written and ready to be beta'd by no later than January second; it will be posted soon after that. For now, let this glimpse of Pepper's nightmare hold you over till then. 'Kay? Thanks!

(Some of you may have also noticed that this is sort of rambling and lengthy and slightly… off. Yes, I am still on painkillers for residual pain and so that I can sleep at night without discomfort. Am I upset by this development? Not in the slightest. Tally-ho!)

.0.o.0.o.0.

The Other Eighty-Eight Percent

.0.o.0.o.0.

She'd made it through the entire funeral without shedding a single tear.

The cameras had found her dry-eyed and steady, and even if she hadn't been able to stand quite on her own, even though she'd had to hang onto Steve for support, she had the best excuse in the world.

Tony Stark, her boss, her nightlight, her lover, her _hero_, was dead.

Pancreatic cancer, of all things.

Sometimes not even science had all the cures.

The funeral had been a hero's; more widely televised than any former President's and with all the pomp and decorum of a state funeral. Director Fury, Steve, Bruce, Clint, Rhodey and Happy had all been pallbearers. Natasha had held her hand throughout the procession, and Thor had led the way to a specially prepared empty space in Central Park and lit an Asgardian funeral pyre with a bolt of lightning summoned by Mjolnir.

The funeral had been all seriousness, and Pepper knew that Tony would have hated it. The reception afterwards though?

That was pure Tony, through and through.

The booze was flowing, video clips and holograms of Tony and Iron Man were everywhere, and just a general party atmosphere permeated the place. Even Pepper had to smile when JARVIS played a series of AC/DC songs at full volume while a holographic Iron Man played air guitar.

Tony had programmed him to do it months ago, of course.

No, Pepper didn't cry until she walked into own bathroom for the first time since Tony had taken a turn for the worse (was it really only six weeks ago?) and seen her surprise for him laying there on the sink.

Her pregnancy test. Her _positive_ pregnancy test.


End file.
